


White Picket Fence

by silentdescant



Category: Glam Rock RPF, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Established Relationship, Genderplay, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Masturbation, Pregnancy Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random, disjointed thoughts swirl through his head and he pictures them as little colored strands, mixing together on the blank canvas of the ceiling. He closes his eyes and lets the image grow and spread, until he pictures himself surrounded by colors, floating in them, melting into the mixture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Picket Fence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sulwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/gifts).



> This is for Sulwen for her birthday. ♥

Tommy wakes up well into the afternoon to a cold and empty half of the bed. He pulls the vacant pillow down under the sheets and wraps his arms around it, but it doesn’t even compare to the warm body he’s missing. Tommy rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He can’t go back to sleep now, and he doesn’t have anywhere to be either. Random, disjointed thoughts swirl through his head and he pictures them as little colored strands, mixing together on the blank canvas of the ceiling. He closes his eyes and lets the image grow and spread, until he pictures himself surrounded by colors, floating in them, melting into the mixture.

His hand slides across the cool sheet and up over his hip, spreading warm over his stomach. His cock throbs with interest, but he doesn’t want to touch it. He pushes it down between his legs, quickly, and clenches his thighs together. Then his hand comes up, meanders across his abdomen and cups his breast. He squeezes, and it doesn’t even matter that there’s not enough flesh to really hold and knead. Tommy knows how to pretend.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s Joanie, and Joanie can play with her breasts, tweak her nipples, one with each thumb, and moan loudly with pleasure. She squeezes her small tits, pinching and releasing, and then pushes both hands down her body, framing her bony hips with each palm.

This is the scariest part, because sometimes it feels so wrong, but she moves her right hand down and _in_ , pushing her first and middle fingers between her clenched thighs. It’s so warm and tight, and with her left hand she’s already scrambling for the pump-top bottle of lube on the nightstand. With her fingers wet with lube and both hands at work, rubbing and pushing down between her legs, she lets herself feel the pleasure without focusing on where it’s coming from.

“So wet,” she whispers. “So hot.” She wants more, wants to be fucked, but there’s no time for that now. She’s already so close. She shoves her whole hand between her thighs, cupping her sex and squeezing, and she can feel it now, her own wetness leaking onto her fingers. She brings them to her mouth to taste. That makes it real, that visceral punch of lust in the gut, and she cups herself with her left hand this time, smearing her own wetness with the slick lube, and her thighs slip and slide against each other as she clenches them, and with the fingers of her right hand, still dripping with that sharp scent, shoved hard into her mouth like a cock, it’s enough.

She gasps, sucking in air around her fingers, and her thighs shake with tension, and warmth spreads over her fingers as she comes. She leaves her hand there, pressed hard against sensitive skin, and lets the come pool in her cupped palm. She doesn’t want to look at it. She doesn’t want to feel it cooling. She smears it on the inside of her thigh instead, wiping it into the sloppy mess of lubricant.

Her left hand drifts back down to her tit, fingers idly plucking at her nipple as her heart rate slows. The little zings of pleasure shooting through her body are almost too much, and it’s too soon. She has to stop. She has to get this heavy blanket off, has to breathe.

Lying on the bed, naked and uncovered, she arranges herself with her thighs pressed together, holding everything in place, and her body twisted in what she thinks is a feminine pose. She kind of wants a mirror, but she knows she would only be disappointed in her reflection. So she does her best without, and rests one hand on her belly. She can almost imagine the bit of softness she feels there is due to something other than too much food and not enough exercise.

She strokes her thumb over her belly button, thinking. It would be perfect. She wants… She wants it to be easier. She wants her husband to fuck her, and she wants to feel his child inside her. She wants that connection to another human being, that blood-bond. That fulfillment.

These thoughts are pink, in Joanie’s mind, and she closes her eyes again and lets them take over, swirling around her in different shades and hues, from white to deep red. She can feel herself getting aroused at the idea of it, the thought of carrying a little baby girl, but she squeezes her thighs tight and breathes deeply, trying to direct that bloodflow elsewhere.

Other thoughts in pastel colors seep into the mix: the house, their house, littered with children’s toys and laughter. A white picket fence happy family she never thought she’d get. Her husband coming home from work to dinner on the table, kissing Joanie on the lips and their daughter on the forehead.

After a while of drifting in this daydream, she hears the front door open and slam, and heavy footfalls on the stairs.

“Tommy?” a deep voice calls. “You still in bed? Tommy?”

Joanie’s husband opens the bedroom door and looks in, his gaze traveling slowly down her nude form. She smiles at him and turns her legs to the side, twisting her body to show off the shallow curve of her ass.

“Joanie,” he says, smiling in return as he loosens his tie. “Did you have some fun without me?”

She doesn’t even have to answer; he pounces on her, pinning her shoulders to the bed with his hands and her knees to the side with his thickly muscled thigh, and he claims her lips in a deep, thorough kiss that leaves her without the breath to reply.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down to squeeze her breast. “You look so beautiful.”

“I missed you,” she tells him, and he grinds his cock against her ass. “Fuck me, please. Knock me up, baby, I want you so bad.”

“You ready for me? Is your cunt wet for me, baby?”

There’s still lube on her thighs, but none on her ass. She doesn’t care. She nods, her cheek scraping against his stubble, and he reaches down to fit himself to her entrance. She can feel the warmth, the wetness of his precome, and he starts pushing in. Slowly, because he must know she’s not really prepared.

When he’s fully inside her, he pauses. She grinds down against him, wanting more, wanting it fast and hard and satisfying, but he holds her firm and she finally stills.

“I wish I could be good for you,” she whispers, the words slipping out of her like water.

He grabs her chin, forces her head up. “Joanie,” he says, his voice sharp. “Don’t think that way. You’re perfect how you are. You’re perfect like this, and I love you.”

Joanie wraps her arms around her husband’s neck and pulls him down so their chests are flush together, and her legs are twisted between them, and his cock is so hot and hard inside her, trapping her against him, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.


End file.
